


The Linden File

by Lilysmum



Category: The Killing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:25:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1866177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilysmum/pseuds/Lilysmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set somewhere post-S3.</p><p>Many, many thanks to glowcult for all the support on this - it would not have made it off of my laptop otherwise...</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Linden File

 

 

 

It’s the pounding of his heart that wakes him.

 

He feels her hands all over him, on his face, his chest, his belly, she’s touching him everywhere, wherever she wants. He fights to open his eyes, he doesn’t want to leave the dream but needs to see her.  He already knows what she looks like, a pink-and-white girl, tiny red-gold freckles that exactly match the colour of her hair.  And for all the time he’s spent looking at her hands – when she’s driving, or lighting a cigarette, or using her computer, all the time he spent not letting himself think about this, not really, he did kind of always know how it would feel.

 

Holder opens his eyes and sees her there and he’s not dreaming, this is real.  Linden’s sitting in the dark beside him and as he swims up into full consciousness he feels her bend first one and then the other of his legs up at the knee, running her hands over the outsides and then the insides of his thighs.  He takes in a deep shuddering breath causing her to look up, and when he opens his mouth to speak she shakes her head.  He starts to sit up, to reach for her, but she holds up a hand.

 

“Just stay there,” she tells him. 

 

He barely hears her over the sound of his own heartbeat but he feels her hair falling over his belly and watches, hypnotized.  Jesus, is she…oh God she is.

 

 

_How he felt about his partner had gotten complicated._

_What started out as a sort of puzzled resentment quickly became admiration slash irritation._

_Next came the strongest protective instinct he’d ever felt, coupled with the sting of rejection practically every time he turned around.  Until the day that she had actually let him see her, for real._

_He started to get her, that day. So he made a hobby out of bugging her then to find out more. Getting a rise out of her became his reason to get up in the morning, for a while.  Coffee, a smoke, and a smile/an eye roll/a sigh/or whatever he could get from Linden.  Best part of the day.  Then things got really fucked and they had nobody but each other and that was when they found their synch. She finally got it – got that he was safe – an actual good guy, at least as far as she ever needed to know - and he could finally relax._

_He knows her pretty well now. She’s so goddamned smart, and tough, she can think on her feet like nobody else and she’s not scared of anybody.  She’s not hard to understand - like him, she’s never had what it is that she really needs, and it’s too late now, anyway. So, just like him, that drives her.  Always watching, always thinking. She never stops. He realized a long time ago that he values her opinion more than anybody’s, and still once in a while he just has to stand there and watch and learn._

_Sure she can be difficult and yes she makes him have to read her mind  and okay she can still be a bitch sometimes but there’s also the fact that she has seen him at his most disgusting, pathetic, loser worst, and she never even batted an eye.  She just took him home, told him, no, ordered him, to eat, shower, sleep, and get his sorry ass back into work the next day.  Never looked at him one bit differently for it either.  For which he is so, so grateful, because she’s the only one who hasn’t, the only one.  Linden can handle him, which never fails to impress him, and he feels selfish thinking it, but it’s a huge relief, ‘cause there are still times when he needs to be handled._

_The fact that she’s totally fucking hot became a problem, though_. 

 

_It was ok at first, it was fun actually.  He was never bored when she was around, that was for sure. She wasn’t his type; if he had a type, it was darker, taller, younger, mouthier.  But still eventually it got that he had to struggle to keep her off his mind. Her dynamite body. Her amazing mind. Her hair, her lips, her eyes, her skin, her smell, all of it._

_He knew he was in trouble when one night she showed up in a dream. He had to sit beside her in the car the next day feeling guilty as hell.  She’d picked up on it too – he’d had to make up some lame excuse that she knew was some lame excuse.  He knew he couldn’t afford for it to be that way. She’d know, she’d feel it coming off of him, he’d do something stupid. And as far as types go, he’s definitely not hers.  He figures he’s pretty much the opposite of her type, actually._

_He doesn’t think he’s in love with her. He doesn’t know what that would feel like, to plan a whole life with somebody, to see a future. He never thinks beyond what they already are, what they already have. But then he’s never really thought that way about anybody.  Maybe he’s not that kind of guy, maybe he’s not capable.  But what he does know is that at times he loves her desperately, and needs her, and he knows that if he ever lost her, if he couldn’t see her, or talk to her, he would just fucking die._

_So as much of a risk taker as he has been, can still be, he knows there are some things that are just not worth messing with.  He did once. And she’d known that he was out of his mind, assumed it was just part of his disaster, blew it off like it was nothing.  The timing was wrong, wrong.  But what she didn’t know is that he had meant it, and for the right reasons too, and he hated himself after, for being too fucked up to set her straight._

_Anyway, he fixed it.  He forced himself. He somehow took that stuff, and put it in the back of his brain, away from everything else.  He imagines a file box, one of those good ones that start out flat and you fold up a-b-c into a box with a hinged lid.  He pictures that box, in his brain, keeping all that hot stuff nice and safe and contained. His Linden File. It’s all still there, it just can’t cause any trouble.  He told himself that if the lid ever came off that box it would be because she took it off, not him. He was mostly pleased with himself for being able to do that. Personal growth, he’d call it, on a good day, or professional conduct.  And on a bad day, he guesses he’s probably just chicken shit.  But if he has to keep it that way he will. Because what he knows for sure is that the part of his life that is with her, the work that they do, knowing that he’s not alone, means everything.  Everything._

_Well the lid came off the box yesterday.  Because of Linden’s hair._

_It was late in the day at the office and they were just heading out.  Holder bent down to tie his shoe and Linden stepped up beside him, using her reflection in the window as a makeshift mirror to re-tie her ponytail.  The rain had made her hair rebellious and as she struggled to catch it all and tie it back up she cursed under her breath. Exactly at the moment Holder stood up from tying his shoe, realizing he was standing too close to her, she flipped her ponytail, almost hitting him in the face. He flinched, she stepped sideways, they almost collided and she ended up having to grab his arm to keep her balance._

_“Too much hair,” she told him, exasperated, by way of an apology, but she didn’t move, and neither did he.  Somehow the fact that she didn’t let go of his arm right away  made it feel ok for him to pick up a little of that hair, a little slice,  and slide it between his fingers._

_“Nah,” he answered her, and let it slip away, down her back, surprised at how soft it was. She has a ton of hair and it’s thick and strong but soft – softer than it looks.  She’s careful with it, he realized, she keeps it close and safe, almost as if she’s afraid of what it might do. This is something he’d have to put in the Linden File, he realized, that silky soft slide of her hair on his fingers._

_Suddenly conscious of being in her personal space and half-expecting a smack, he stepped back then and  noticed too late the strange little smile on her face, a tiny, welcoming, maybe even encouraging little smile that he for sure had never seen before. It only lasted for about two seconds, but it was enough to trigger a visceral response like a flash of hot coals in his guts._

_Holder knew what that little smile meant.  Linden had liked that he’d done that – touched her hair.  She’d thought that he was going to kiss her, he had been close enough to.  He could have. He should have. And as he followed her out of the office and into the hallway he told himself that the next chance he got, he would. The lid was off the Linden File._

He’s touching her hair now, too.

 

He’s got a piece of it looped around his hand, loose, and it slips easily between his fingers and thumb. Its dark in the room but he can see just fine.  He lets her be for a while but then stops her, tries to get her to come up so he can reciprocate, but she resists, moves over top and slips down onto him like a hot dream. They get the right rhythm pretty easily because, after all, this is round three.  He wets his fingers in his mouth and adds them to the mix and it doesn’t take him any time to get it right.  She has her hand clamped down on his wrist as if she is afraid that he will stop (as if he would, or even could) and she’s saying ‘Holder’ and saying ‘perfect’ in the same sentence and he’s pretty sure that should qualify as  some type of a miracle.

 

 

_He got his chance today when they stopped for gas._

_The whole day had been a wash-out.  They’d been spinning their wheels with nothing working out for hours.  She’d gone inside to pay and when she got back into the car she glanced over at him while reaching across for her seatbelt and gave him what he was pretty sure was that look again._

_“So now what?” he’d asked her, and she’d sighed, and she fixed her eyes, blue magnets, on his and she didn’t look away. So he did it.  He just reached over, decisive as hell, and slid his hand around behind her neck and leaned over the console and kissed her. He didn’t overthink it - he literally only thought of it one second before he did it. It was a you’re-hot-as-hell-but-I’m-on-my-best-behaviour type of kiss, and he’d known he’d made the right move because she was the one who kept it going, long enough for some guy to pull up behind them at the pump and honk his horn and yell at them to get a room._

_“Broke my promise,” he said as they pulled out into traffic._

_Her eyes were on the rear view, then on him for a second, then back on the road, “It was time,” She told him, then put her foot down, accelerating, merging, and also letting him off the hook, “Anyhow that didn’t count. You were drunk.”_

Linden’s saying something else to him now too... above the sounds of the bed and the wet slipping-sliding  and his own ragged breathing he can’t hear her, just reads her lips, trying to pay attention to everything at once.  She’s telling him not to move, asking him if he can stay still, and it’s hard because he’s getting there but he holds still and waits, and breathes, because he’s never been that macho that he wouldn’t be willing to let himself be bossed around for a minute by the tiny superhero that he has always suspected is really the essence of Sarah Linden.  Her eyes are closed and she’s not breathing, barely moving, she’s biting her lip.  He starts to feel like he should be doing something different or something better when she opens her eyes for a second then and stares at him with a look of complete astonishment. She says his name again and also something about staying here forever before her eyes close and he watches her, and hears her, and feels her and all he can think of is that this is the most fucking gorgeous and sexy and beautiful and erotic thing he has ever seen.

 

 

_So they did, get a room, that is, his room, even if it took them a while to actually get there._

_The drive back to his place had felt interminable, even with Linden driving.  How is it he had managed to  spend all of those hours with her all this time and had rarely even touched her, hardly ever looked at her (like that), barely even let himself think about her (like that), and now he couldn’t even wait another five minutes. Every nerve in his body was yelling and he couldn’t even look at her, trying to distract himself by staring out the side window, willing himself not to squirm in his seat.  All he could see was the Linden File, with the lid wide open, its contents flying everywhere._

_He grabbed her as soon as the apartment door closed behind them. They only made it as far as the couch for round one.  He was not on his best behaviour anymore and he knew she didn’t expect or even want him to be when she threw him a sideways look as she pulled her sweater over her head and his jeans hit the floor._

_“Nothing fancy, Holder, okay?” she’d told him, and it was pretty much what he expected: Grey tank top, built-in bra.  High-cut panties, black, he thinks, maybe navy. Fantastic thighs._

_“You sure?” he’d asked her, all confident, amazed that he could still form words, “’Cause…”_

_The tank top went next.  Then the hair tie._

_“’Cause what?” she asked._

_But he was speechless, his brains were gone the second he saw all that skin, and she’d rolled her eyes, and tried not to crack up, and he decided to take it as a good sign that he had her laughing right before the first time they fucked._

 

He catches her as she collapses forward onto his chest and spreads his hands across her back, feels the air moving in and out of her lungs, feels her spine, and her ribs flexing under his fingers.  He lets her rest, his heart pounding in his ears as she grips him with tiny aftershocks. He feels massive, holding her on top of himself and then he can’t stay still anymore and he’s kissing her and she gives him her breasts, her neck, her shoulders, and it’s so much, its almost too much, all at once. She asks him what he wants and he can’t even think because all he sees and feels is what he already has. She holds on when he rolls them over because he needs to have the top now, whispers “C’mon,” in his ear as she curls her leg around him.  He wants and fully intends to keep this going because, really, who knows if or when they will ever get here again.  But when he starts to move it’s not long before he finds out he is too far gone and he has no choice but to give it up and pray he’s not hurting her and God, he can’t help it, the sky is exploding, and if you want to talk about some higher power, Holder well and truly understands it now.

 

 

 

_Round two was in the shower.  Everything was steamy and slippery and Holder broke out some of the fancy.  They stayed in there so long the steam ruined the ancient Doors poster that was taped up on the inside of the bathroom door, the edges curled up and it slid limply onto the floor._

_“Damn,” he mused, pleased with himself as he dropped his towel and moved over on the bed to make room, “We outlasted the rock stars, Linden.  I mean, I know those guys are either old or dead, but still, that’s some good shit.”_

_“The Doors, Holder?” she asked, amused, as he stared at the pink splotches all over her chest.  Linden, Rockin’ the Sex Flush.  He’d like a poster of that, actually._

_“Came with the place,” he told her, instead, “Some old hippie lived here before.”_

_She slid into bed beside him, her skin still damp, her hair damp too, and darker for it, and she lifted up his arm and curled in perfectly underneath it as if she’d been doing it every single night of her life._

 

Minutes later there’s no sign of the superhero.  Linden’s a floppy sleepy ragdoll, turning over slowly in his arms to rest her head on his chest. She reaches out a finger, tracing the veins on his forearm, then lifts her head, turns  to face him and says nothing but studies him a long moment before settling back down. For a second he almost feels like he could cry, the way she looks at him right before she closes her eyes. Open. Unguarded.  Everything stripped away.  Nothing there but her.

 

She’s asleep in an instant, both of her legs around one of his, an arm across his chest.  She’s boneless, dreamless, light as a feather, breathing little puffs against his skin. Holder’s sleepy too, grateful for the body buzz and his endorphin-loose joints. He hears the faint thread of a siren miles away, the smell of night air and rain coming in the window, aware for the first time in hours of the world outside of his four walls.  Heavy in the arms and legs, he fights the thought of it as he rests his face against the top of her head, breathes her in, holding onto what he can.  He’d absorb her through his skin if he could. And he prays that he’s worthy of what’s been given to him.

 

He figures she’ll be gone by the time he wakes up and who knows what things will be like at the office tomorrow – relations might be frosty.  She might have a little freak-out.  Or quit him as a partner.  But, no.  She’d said herself that it was time.  Still, if he had to wager he’d bet she won’t be entirely comfortable, she’ll behave as if none of this ever happened.  His last thought before he falls asleep is about the box, the Linden File, and how it’s been blown to smithereens.  He wonders if he will need a new one.

 

And he’s right.  He wakes up alone.

 

He’s antsy when he walks into their office, sees her sitting at her computer, same as most every day, take-out coffee beside her. She’s brought one in for him too, it’s sitting there on his desk across from hers, waiting for him.

 

“Mornin’,” he tells her, and for the life of him he can’t remember how he usually greets her.

 

Linden looks up, all business, her best school principal smile, and he’s hit with half a second of dizzy deja-vu, for some reason.  He can see she has that ponytail tied up extra tight today.

 

“Good morning.” She goes right back to typing.

 

Holder decides to go for it.

 

“Looking good Linden,” He sits down, reaches for his coffee, “Didja get some last night, or what?”

 

She looks up again, pins him to his chair with her eyes, as if she cannot believe he just said that.  He looks right back at her, refuses to look away.  If you offered him a million bucks he would not be able to stop the grin that is hijacking his face.  And he can’t resist – just one more and he’ll shut up…

 

“Hope you realize we’re gonna be late everywhere we go now,” he tells her, doesn’t even lower his voice, “Just sayin…”

 

She tries, oh she tries so hard not to smile, but she does, anyway, she can’t help it, and she is giving him the best smile, it lights up her face, the office, the whole world, actually, brighter than anything he’s ever, ever seen.

 

“Get over yourself Holder,” she says eventually, and she’s the one that looks away, for a second, as he sees the tiniest bit of pink start to stain her cheeks. “And put a lid on it,” she tells him, all stern now, acting like she’s the boss, or something, “We’re at work.”

 

Holder could jump ten feet in the air.  He could do handsprings, cartwheels, probably even juggle. But instead he opens his computer, takes a sip of coffee, logs on, thinking, Linden, Linden, Linden, you have no idea.

 

“Okay.  So where we at?”  He asks her, after a minute.

 

Still, he can’t wipe the grin off his face.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

 

**Author's Note:**

> I almost felt like I had PTSD after I re-watched the S3 finale. I have no idea how the two of them are coping and if the series writers are ever going to give them any peace or any comfort. Anyway, I decided to give them some myself.


End file.
